There was complaint in the village.  The women chattered together with shrill, high-pitched voices.  The men were glum and doubtful of aspect, and the very dogs wandered dubiously about, alarmed in vague ways by the unrest of the camp, and ready to take to the woods on the first outbreak of trouble.  The air was filled with suspicion.  No man was sure of his neighbor, and each was conscious that he stood in like unsureness with his fellows.  Even the children were oppressed and solemn, and little Di Ya, the cause of it all, had been soundly thrashed, first by Hooniah, his mother, and then by his father, Bawn, and was now whimpering and looking pessimistically out upon the world from the shelter of the big overturned canoe on the beach.

And to make the matter worse, Scundoo, the shaman, was in disgrace, and his known magic could not be called upon to seek out the evil-doer.  Forsooth, a month gone, he had promised a fair south wind so that the tribe might journey to the potlatch at Tonkin, where Taku Jim was giving away the savings of twenty years; and when the day came, lo, a grievous north wind blew, and of the first three canoes to venture forth, one was swamped in the big seas, and two were pounded to pieces on the rocks, and a child was drowned.  He had pulled the string of the wrong bag, he explained, ­a mistake.  But the people refused to listen; the offerings of meat and fish and fur ceased to come to his door; and he sulked within ­so they thought, fasting in bitter penance; in reality, eating generously from his well-stored cache and meditating upon the fickleness of the mob.

The blankets of Hooniah were missing.  They were good blankets, of most marvellous thickness and warmth, and her pride in them was greatened in that they had been come by so cheaply.  Ty-Kwan, of the next village but one, was a fool to have so easily parted with them.  But then, she did not know they were the blankets of the murdered Englishman, because of whose take-off the United States cutter nosed along the coast for a time, while its launches puffed and snorted among the secret inlets.  And not knowing that Ty-Kwan had disposed of them in haste so that his own people might not have to render account to the Government, Hooniah’s pride was unshaken.  And because the women envied her, her pride was without end and boundless, till it filled the village and spilled over along the Alaskan shore from Dutch Harbor to St. Mary’s.  Her totem had become justly celebrated, and her name known on the lips of men wherever men fished and feasted, what of the blankets and their marvellous thickness and warmth.  It was a most mysterious happening, the manner of their going.

“I but stretched them up in the sun by the side-wall of the house,” Hooniah disclaimed for the thousandth time to her Thlinget sisters.  “I but stretched them up and turned my back; for Di Ya, dough-thief and eater of raw flour that he is, with head into the big iron pot, overturned and stuck there, his legs waving like the branches of a forest tree in the wind.  And I did but drag him out and twice knock his head against the door for riper understanding, and behold, the blankets were not!”

“The blankets were not!” the women repeated in awed whispers.

“A great loss,” one added.  A second, “Never were there such blankets.”  And a third, “We be sorry, Hooniah, for thy loss.”  Yet each woman of them was glad in her heart that the odious, dissension-breeding blankets were gone.  “I but stretched them up in the sun,” Hooniah began for the thousand and first time.

“Yea, yea,” Bawn spoke up, wearied.  “But there were no gossips in the village from other places.  Wherefore it be plain that some of our own tribespeople have laid unlawful hand upon the blankets.”

“How can that be, O Bawn?” the women chorussed indignantly.  “Who should there be?”

“Then has there been witchcraft,” Bawn continued stolidly enough, though he stole a sly glance at their faces.

“Witchcraft!” And at the dread word their voices hushed and each looked fearfully at each.

“Ay,” Hooniah affirmed, the latent malignancy of her nature flashing into a moment’s exultation.  “And word has been sent to Klok-No-Ton, and strong paddles.  Truly shall he be here with the afternoon tide.”

The little groups broke up, and fear descended upon the village.  Of all misfortune, witchcraft was the most appalling.  With the intangible and unseen things only the shamans could cope, and neither man, woman, nor child could know, until the moment of ordeal, whether devils possessed their souls or not.  And of all shamans, Klok-No-Ton, who dwelt in the next village, was the most terrible.  None found more evil spirits than he, none visited his victims with more frightful tortures.  Even had he found, once, a devil residing within the body of a three-months babe ­a most obstinate devil which could only be driven out when the babe had lain for a week on thorns and briers.  The body was thrown into the sea after that, but the waves tossed it back again and again as a curse upon the village, nor did it finally go away till two strong men were staked out at low tide and drowned.

And Hooniah had sent for this Klok-No-Ton.  Better had it been if Scundoo, their own shaman, were undisgraced.  For he had ever a gentler way, and he had been known to drive forth two devils from a man who afterward begat seven healthy children.  But Klok-No-Ton!  They shuddered with dire foreboding at thought of him, and each one felt himself the centre of accusing eyes, and looked accusingly upon his fellows ­each one and all, save Sime, and Sime was a scoffer whose evil end was destined with a certitude his successes could not shake.

“Hoh!  Hoh!” he laughed.  “Devils and Klok-No-Ton! ­than whom no greater devil can be found in Thlinket Land.”

“Thou fool!  Even now he cometh with witcheries and sorceries; so beware thy tongue, lest evil befall thee and thy days be short in the land!”

So spoke La-lah, otherwise the Cheater, and Sime laughed scornfully.

“I am Sime, unused to fear, unafraid of the dark.  I am a strong man, as my father before me, and my head is clear.  Nor you nor I have seen with our eyes the unseen evil things ­”

“But Scundoo hath,” La-lah made answer.  “And likewise Klok-No-Ton.  This we know.”

“How dost thou know, son of a fool?” Sime thundered, the choleric blood darkening his thick bull neck.

“By the word of their mouths ­even so.”

Sime snorted.  “A shaman is only a man.  May not his words be crooked, even as thine and mine?  Bah!  Bah!  And once more, bah!  And this for thy shamans and thy shamans’ devils! and this! and this!”

And snapping his fingers to right and left, Sime strode through the on-lookers, who made over-zealous and fearsome way for him.

“A good fisher and strong hunter, but an evil man,” said one.

“Yet does he flourish,” speculated another.

“Wherefore be thou evil and flourish,” Sime retorted over his shoulder.  “And were all evil, there would be no need for shamans.  Bah!  You children-afraid-of-the-dark!”

And when Klok-No-Ton arrived on the afternoon tide, Sime’s defiant laugh was unabated; nor did he forbear to make a joke when the shaman tripped on the sand in the landing.  Klok-No-Ton looked at him sourly, and without greeting stalked straight through their midst to the house of Scundoo.

Of the meeting with Scundoo none of the tribespeople might know, for they clustered reverently in the distance and spoke in whispers while the masters of mystery were together.

“Greeting, O Scundoo!” Klok-No-Ton rumbled, wavering perceptibly from doubt of his reception.

He was a giant in stature, and towered massively above little Scundoo, whose thin voice floated upward like the faint far rasping of a cricket.

“Greeting, Klok-No-Ton,” he returned.  “The day is fair with thy coming.”

“Yet it would seem ...”  Klok-No-Ton hesitated.

“Yea, yea,” the little shaman put in impatiently, “that I have fallen on ill days, else would I not stand in gratitude to you in that you do my work.”

“It grieves me, friend Scundoo ...”

“Nay, I am made glad, Klok-No-Ton.”

“But will I give thee half of that which be given me.”

“Not so, good Klok-No-Ton,” murmured Scundoo, with a deprecatory wave of the hand.  “It is I who am thy slave, and my days shall be filled with desire to befriend thee.”

“As I ­”

“As thou now befriendest me.”

“That being so, it is then a bad business, these blankets of the woman Hooniah?”

The big shaman blundered tentatively in his quest, and Scundoo smiled a wan, gray smile, for he was used to reading men, and all men seemed very small to him.

“Ever hast thou dealt in strong medicine,” he said.  “Doubtless the evil-doer will be briefly known to thee.”

“Ay, briefly known when I set eyes upon him.”  Again Klok-No-Ton hesitated.  “Have there been gossips from other places?” he asked.

Scundoo shook his head.  “Behold!  Is this not a most excellent mucluc?”

He held up the foot-covering of sealskin and walrus hide, and his visitor examined it with secret interest.

“It did come to me by a close-driven bargain.”

Klok-No-Ton nodded attentively.

“I got it from the man La-lah.  He is a remarkable man, and often have I thought ...”

“So?” Klok-No-Ton ventured impatiently.

“Often have I thought,” Scundoo concluded, his voice falling as he came to a full pause.  “It is a fair day, and thy medicine be strong, Klok-No-Ton.”

Klok-No-Ton’s face brightened.  “Thou art a great man, Scundoo, a shaman of shamans.  I go now.  I shall remember thee always.  And the man La-lah, as you say, is a remarkable man.”

Scundoo smiled yet more wan and gray, closed the door on the heels of his departing visitor, and barred and double-barred it.

Sime was mending his canoe when Klok-No-Ton came down the beach, and he broke off from his work only long enough to ostentatiously load his rifle and place it near him.

The shaman noted the action and called out:  “Let all the people come together on this spot!  It is the word of Klok-No-Ton, devil-seeker and driver of devils!”

He had been minded to assemble them at Hooniah’s house, but it was necessary that all should be present, and he was doubtful of Sime’s obedience and did not wish trouble.  Sime was a good man to let alone, his judgment ran, and withal, a bad one for the health of any shaman.

“Let the woman Hooniah be brought,” Klok-No-Ton commanded, glaring ferociously about the circle and sending chills up and down the spines of those he looked upon.

Hooniah waddled forward, head bent and gaze averted.

“Where be thy blankets?”

“I but stretched them up in the sun, and behold, they were not!” she whined.

“So?”

“It was because of Di Ya.”

“So?”

“Him have I beaten sore, and he shall yet be beaten, for that he brought trouble upon us who be poor people.”

“The blankets!” Klok-No-Ton bellowed hoarsely, foreseeing her desire to lower the price to be paid.  “The blankets, woman!  Thy wealth is known.”

“I but stretched them up in the sun,” she sniffled, “and we be poor people and have nothing.”

He stiffened suddenly, with a hideous distortion of the face, and Hooniah shrank back.  But so swiftly did he spring forward, with in-turned eyeballs and loosened jaw, that she stumbled and fell down grovelling at his feet.  He waved his arms about, wildly flagellating the air, his body writhing and twisting in torment.  An epilepsy seemed to come upon him.  A white froth flecked his lips, and his body was convulsed with shiverings and tremblings.

The women broke into a wailing chant, swaying backward and forward in abandonment, while one by one the men succumbed to the excitement till only Sime remained.  He, perched upon his canoe, looked on in mockery; yet the ancestors whose seed he bore pressed heavily upon him, and he swore his strongest oaths that his courage might be cheered.  Klok-No-Ton was horrible to behold.  He had cast off his blanket and torn his clothes from him, so that he was quite naked, save for a girdle of eagle-claws about his thighs.  Shrieking and yelling, his long black hair flying like a blot of night, he leaped frantically about the circle.  A certain rude rhythm characterized his frenzy, and when all were under its sway, swinging their bodies in accord with his and venting their cries in unison, he sat bolt upright, with arm outstretched and long, talon-like finger extended.  A low moaning, as of the dead, greeted this, and the people cowered with shaking knees as the dread finger passed them slowly by.  For death went with it, and life remained with those who watched it go; and being rejected, they watched with eager intentness.

Finally, with a tremendous cry, the fateful finger rested upon La-lah.  He shook like an aspen, seeing himself already dead, his household goods divided, and his widow married to his brother.  He strove to speak, to deny, but his tongue clove to his mouth and his throat was sanded with an intolerable thirst.  Klok-No-Ton seemed to half swoon away, now that his work was done; but he waited, with closed eyes, listening for the great blood-cry to go up ­the great blood-cry, familiar to his ear from a thousand conjurations, when the tribespeople flung themselves like wolves upon the trembling victim.  But only was there silence, then a low tittering, from nowhere in particular, which spread and spread until a vast laughter welled up to the sky.

“Wherefore?” he cried.

“Na!  Na!” the people laughed.  “Thy medicine be ill, O Klok-No-Ton!”

“It be known to all,” La-lah stuttered.  “For eight weary months have I been gone afar with the Siwash sealers, and but this day am I come back to find the blankets of Hooniah gone ere I came!”

“It be true!” they cried with one accord.  “The blankets of Hooniah were gone ere he came!”

“And thou shalt be paid nothing for thy medicine which is of no avail,” announced Hooniah, on her feet once more and smarting from a sense of ridiculousness.

But Klok-No-Ton saw only the face of Scundoo and its wan, gray smile, heard only the faint far cricket’s rasping.  “I got it from the man La-lah, and often have I thought,” and, “It is a fair day and thy medicine be strong.”

He brushed by Hooniah, and the circle instinctively gave way for him to pass.  Sime flung a jeer from the top of the canoe, the women snickered in his face, cries of derision rose in his wake, but he took no notice, pressing onward to the house of Scundoo.  He hammered on the door, beat it with his fists, and howled vile imprecations.  Yet there was no response, save that in the lulls Scundoo’s voice rose eerily in incantation.  Klok-No-Ton raged about like a madman, but when he attempted to break in the door with a huge stone, murmurs arose from the men and women.  And he, Klok-No-Ton, knew that he stood shorn of his strength and authority before an alien people.  He saw a man stoop for a stone, and a second, and a bodily fear ran through him.

“Harm not Scundoo, who is a master!” a woman cried out.

“Better you return to your own village,” a man advised menacingly.

Klok-No-Ton turned on his heel and went down among them to the beach, a bitter rage at his heart, and in his head a just apprehension for his defenceless back.  But no stones were cast.  The children swarmed mockingly about his feet, and the air was wild with laughter and derision, but that was all.  Yet he did not breathe freely until the canoe was well out upon the water, when he rose up and laid a futile curse upon the village and its people, not forgetting to particularly specify Scundoo who had made a mock of him.

Ashore there was a clamor for Scundoo, and the whole population crowded his door, entreating and imploring in confused babel till he came forth and raised his hand.

“In that ye are my children I pardon freely,” he said.  “But never again.  For the last time thy foolishness goes unpunished.  That which ye wish shall be granted, and it be already known to me.  This night, when the moon has gone behind the world to look upon the mighty dead, let all the people gather in the blackness before the house of Hooniah.  Then shall the evil-doer stand forth and take his merited reward.  I have spoken.”

“It shall be death!” Bawn vociferated, “for that it hath brought worry upon us, and shame.”

“So be it,” Scundoo replied, and shut his door.

“Now shall all be made clear and plain, and content rest upon us once again,” La-lah declaimed oracularly.

“Because of Scundoo, the little man,” Sime sneered.

“Because of the medicine of Scundoo, the little man,” La-lah corrected.

“Children of foolishness, these Thlinket people!” Sime smote his thigh a resounding blow.  “It passeth understanding that grown women and strong men should get down in the dirt to dream-things and wonder tales.”

“I am a travelled man,” La-lah answered.  “I have journeyed on the deep seas and seen signs and wonders, and I know that these things be so.  I am La-lah ­”

“The Cheater ­”

“So called, but the Far-Journeyer right-named.”

“I am not so great a traveller ­” Sime began.

“Then hold thy tongue,” Bawn cut in, and they separated in anger.

When the last silver moonlight had vanished beyond the world, Scundoo came among the people huddled about the house of Hooniah.  He walked with a quick, alert step, and those who saw him in the light of Hooniah’s slush-lamp noticed that he came empty-handed, without rattles, masks, or shaman’s paraphernalia, save for a great sleepy raven carried under one arm.

“Is there wood gathered for a fire, so that all may see when the work be done?” he demanded.

“Yea,” Bawn answered.  “There be wood in plenty.”

“Then let all listen, for my words be few.  With me have I brought Jelchs, the Raven, diviner of mystery and seer of things.  Him, in his blackness, shall I place under the big black pot of Hooniah, in the blackest corner of her house.  The slush-lamp shall cease to burn, and all remain in outer darkness.  It is very simple.  One by one shall ye go into the house, lay hand upon the pot for the space of one long intake of the breath, and withdraw again.  Doubtless Jelchs will make outcry when the hand of the evil-doer is nigh him.  Or who knows but otherwise he may manifest his wisdom.  Are ye ready?”

“We be ready,” came the multi-voiced response.

“Then will I call the name aloud, each in his turn and hers, till all are called.”

Thereat La-lah was first chosen, and he passed in at once.  Every ear strained, and through the silence they could hear his footsteps creaking across the rickety floor.  But that was all.  Jelchs made no outcry, gave no sign.  Bawn was next chosen, for it well might be that a man should steal his own blankets with intent to cast shame upon his neighbors.  Hooniah followed, and other women and children, but without result.

“Sime!” Scundoo called out.

“Sime!” he repeated.

But Sime did not stir.

“Art thou afraid of the dark?” La-lah, his own integrity being proved, demanded fiercely.

Sime chuckled.  “I laugh at it all, for it is a great foolishness.  Yet will I go in, not in belief in wonders, but in token that I am unafraid.”

And he passed in boldly, and came out still mocking.

“Some day shalt thou die with great suddenness,” La-lah whispered, righteously indignant.

“I doubt not,” the scoffer answered airily.  “Few men of us die in our beds, what of the shamans and the deep sea.”

When half the villagers had safely undergone the ordeal, the excitement, because of its repression, was painfully intense.  When two-thirds had gone through, a young woman, close on her first child-bed, broke down and in nervous shrieks and laughter gave form to her terror.

Finally the turn came for the last of all to go in, and nothing had happened.  And Di Ya was the last of all.  It must surely be he.  Hooniah let out a lament to the stars, while the rest drew back from the luckless lad.  He was half-dead from fright, and his legs gave under him so that he staggered on the threshold and nearly fell.  Scundoo shoved him inside and closed the door.  A long time went by, during which could be heard only the boy’s weeping.  Then, very slowly, came the creak of his steps to the far corner, a pause, and the creaking of his return.  The door opened and he came forth.  Nothing had happened, and he was the last.

“Let the fire be lighted,” Scundoo commanded.

The bright flames rushed upward, revealing faces yet marked with vanishing fear, but also clouded with doubt.

“Surely the thing has failed,” Hooniah whispered hoarsely.

“Yea,” Bawn answered complacently.  “Scundoo groweth old, and we stand in need of a new shaman.”

“Where now is the wisdom of Jelchs?” Sime snickered in La-lah’s ear.

La-lah brushed his brow in a puzzled manner and said nothing.

Sime threw his chest out arrogantly and strutted up to the little shaman.  “Hoh!  Hoh!  As I said, nothing has come of it!”

“So it would seem, so it would seem,” Scundoo answered meekly.  “And it would seem strange to those unskilled in the affairs of mystery.”

“As thou?” Sime queried audaciously.

“Mayhap even as I.”  Scundoo spoke quite softly, his eyelids drooping, slowly drooping, down, down, till his eyes were all but hidden.  “So I am minded of another test.  Let every man, woman, and child, now and at once, hold their hands well up above their heads!”

So unexpected was the order, and so imperatively was it given, that it was obeyed without question.  Every hand was in the air.

“Let each look on the other’s hands, and let all look,” Scundoo commanded, “so that ­”

But a noise of laughter, which was more of wrath, drowned his voice.  All eyes had come to rest upon Sime.  Every hand but his was black with soot, and his was guiltless of the smirch of Hooniah’s pot.

A stone hurtled through the air and struck him on the cheek.

“It is a lie!” he yelled.  “A lie!  I know naught of Hooniah’s blankets!”

A second stone gashed his brow, a third whistled past his head, the great blood-cry went up, and everywhere were people groping on the ground for missiles.  He staggered and half sank down.

“It was a joke!  Only a joke!” he shrieked.  “I but took them for a joke!”

“Where hast thou hidden them?” Scundoo’s shrill, sharp voice cut through the tumult like a knife.

“In the large skin-bale in my house, the one slung by the ridge-pole,” came the answer.  “But it was a joke, I say, only ­”

Scundoo nodded his head, and the air went thick with flying stones.  Sime’s wife was crying silently, her head upon her knees; but his little boy, with shrieks and laughter, was flinging stones with the rest.

Hooniah came waddling back with the precious blankets.  Scundoo stopped her.

“We be poor people and have little,” she whimpered.  “So be not hard upon us, O Scundoo.”

The people ceased from the quivering stone-pile they had builded, and looked on.

“Nay, it was never my way, good Hooniah,” Scundoo made answer, reaching for the blankets.  “In token that I am not hard, these only shall I take.”

“Am I not wise, my children?” he demanded.

“Thou art indeed wise, O Scundoo!” they cried in one voice.

And he went away into the darkness, the blankets around him, and Jelchs nodding sleepily under his arm.